


The Distance Of Your Mind

by Lomii



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Dissociation, Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Trauma, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:37:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6904363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomii/pseuds/Lomii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The Asset's mind has been severely altered by the target. The empty-nothing is now the blank-nothing.</i>
</p><p>-</p><p>After the Winter Soldier drags Captain America out of the Potomac, he must graciously deal with the entire structure of his existence falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Distance Of Your Mind

The sensation of having no thoughts in his mind should be a familiar one. Emptiness. A lack of self. Himself.

_There is no self. You are The Asset. The Winter Soldier._

His mind is not empty, as it should be. It is blank. There are no thoughts as he leaves the edge of the river and the sputtering body of the target. He absently reaches with his metal hand to ease his arm up and relocate his shoulder. He barely registers the burning pain, the grind of bone against bone, the jerking clunk as the joints realign and his muscles spasm. He continues through the trees and foliage as he listens to the far away sounds of sirens in the air and panicked shouting. People are still running away, or standing around, talking into cellphones or watching the Triskelion wreckage and helicarrier remains. The Asset ignores them.

_I'm with you 'till the end of the line._

The Asset feels strange. This blank-nothing is not like the empty-nothing. When his mind felt empty he was calm, efficient and dangerous. He knew he needed the memory wipes, even if the pain made him want to _(kill them)_ resist, to tense and lash out. He knew that if he remembered anything he would be ineffective. There were no _(memories)_ thoughts, and so no reasons to be distracted. He had his missions. He has a purpose. He is always ready, always willing to do his duty.

_Ready to comply._

But now he feels. Blank. Like his mind has turned into a void, and all the thoughts that he might have are spiraling away from him before he can grasp them. The target had talked to him _(pleaded)_ , said he did not want to fight, that they were friends _(how)._

_You've known me your whole life._

The target had said these things, and now The Asset's mind is. Not there. He is not empty; he can feel himself thinking _(what)_ , but he can barely hear over the blank, void, silence _(pain)_ in his head. He can feel himself drifting further away _(from himself)_ , can not hear his _(self)_ surroundings, can feel his sight blur and darken as he falls further away from his body and closer to the void.

The Asset can not feel anything. He wonders if he is dying, and about to drop fully into this dead, blind silence where his mind had once been. Would he become truly empty, like the handlers and scientists had wanted him to be? Would he cease to exist?

_Your name is James Buchanan Barnes._

The Asset is not meant to have a name. He is meant to be a weapon, powerful and deadly to those he is sent to kill, a cold, merciless killer who strikes without hesitation. He does not think. He does not feel. He does not question. He does not fail.

He does not have a name.

_James Buchanan Barnes._

The words make the Asset's numb mind twist, as if he is in the chair, trying to mentally contort himself into a position that will give him _(freedom)_ relief from the pain. Why does this name hurt the Asset's mind? But this is not like the pain from the chair; white, blinding, timeless and _(empty)_ all-consuming. He feels the pain digging into his skull, clear and sharp, demanding attention from his dazed mind. The Asset can feel the void in his head shifting, as if it is getting heavier – darker – from the silenced thinking roiling within it.

_Your name._

His mind churns and dims, the void of thoughts blackens and seeps around him, pressing down on _(crushing)_ him, rising up and _(drowning)_ choking him. The Asset wants to thrash against the black, clench it between his hands and eviscerate it, rip it to shreds and hurl it from his mind. Suffocate these rebelling snatches of thoughts, strangle this name that makes him want to howl in _(anguish)_ confusion. He wants to scream, snarl, bite, maim, except his body is gone from him, taken and hidden by the void. He has no arms, no legs, can not punch or kick. No lungs to breathe, no breath to scream. No heart to keep him alive; no brain to keep _him_ alive.

He hangs immobile, paralyzed by the unyielding pressure of _nothing_.

_Is James. Buchanan-_

Pain rips through his body, electric and blinding. The Asset convulses and screams, feels his muscles seize, his joints lock, his bones set on fire, lightning scorching his nerves. The pain ignites every sensor in his mind and body. Information slams into The Asset; his body snap back to him as he feels his skull crack wide open with agonizing sensation.

Underground. Machines. Chair. Soldiers. Scientists. Danger. Pain. Pain. Pain.

The Asset spins left as he hears the taser rod swing towards his back. Grabs the soldiers wrist with his left hand and wrenches sideways, crushing the wrist like paper and sending the baton flying. Continues his spin as he hears guns click – men shouting – pulls the soldier around with him while grabbing the pistol – Glock 17 – from the soldiers thigh holster. Blocks the gunshots from his far left, feels the soldier jerk three times, gasp wetly before slumping. Shoots the two soldiers on his right before they can fire. Their bodies drop, guns clattering against the floor, blood and brain spattered against the wall. More gunshots from left, dead body jerks again, blood sprays across his front.

Two soldiers, two scientists remaining. One scientist unarmed, behind scientist armed with M1911 pistol. Soldiers on left, furthest armed with Colt M4A1, closest armed with Gerber Mark II BA9 combat knife. Closest charges, knife swinging, aiming for neck or upper chest. Furthest soldier re-aiming, preparing to shoot. Scientists shouting – fear audible – unlikely to hit but potential injury high if ignored. Can not avoid knife without being shot, need to move to avoid knife wound.

Drop body, closest soldier closing in, lunge into range – unexpected move, eyes widen in shock. Soldier between the Asset and furthest soldier, cover from bullets. No gunshots, soldier waiting for opportune moment or unwilling to risk shooting ally. Block knife easily, faster reflexes. Disarm, catch knife, kick soldier in solar plexus towards armed soldier, throw knife at scientists. Both soldiers staggering, shoot them in the head. Blood sprays up, smears across the floor, bodies collapse, twitch. Scientist dead, eyes glassy, knife through throat, blood soaking clothes, gun on the floor. Last scientist cowering, collapsed against wall. Pale, stammering. Not reaching for weapons.

The Asset's head is quiet. Muscles coiled, breathing normally.

_James Buchanan Barnes._

Sharp, demanding. Pain blooms between his eyes and spreads, stabs into his temples. The Asset scowls, breathes out slowly. The scientist has gone grey, sweat beading his face as his tone reaches a hysterical pitch, words slurring together. Blood and skull fragments spatter onto the wall from one gunshot.

A minute passes. No movement, no raised alarms, no sounds of approaching reinforcements.

The Asset evaluates.

His body is signalling multiple pains and injuries; his left arm is functioning optimally but fiery pain skitters along his nerves. The scar tissue across his front and back feels tight and strained around the metal. The bones of his left shoulder and rib cage ache where the metal reinforcements are grafted. He can barely move his right shoulder without pain shooting through his torso. Something feels broken in his right hand. Both ankles feel swollen, his left one causing considerably more pain. Bruises and cuts are scattered all over his body, and the electric shock has left his muscles feeling cold and hollow.

His head _aches_. A slow throbbing pulse behind his eyes and a static shiver that sparks along his skull and down his spine. But the blank-nothing that had been smothering the inside of his skull has retreated; his vision is sharp as he scans the bank vault automatically, watches the blood from the scientist bodies ooze towards his feet. He listens to the sound of his breathing and the faint whir of idling machinery.

The Asset has no memory of entering the bank vault, no memory of travelling across the city, no memory of making the decision to return to the safe house. He remembered leaving the riverside – leaving the unconscious target in the mud – but the memory feels flat and unreal, like the Asset is observing through a grainy screen, watching someone else command his body through his own eyes.

The Asset concludes that he is unstable. He was not in control of his body for an indeterminable amount of time. He was unable to comprehend the decisions he was making; was unresponsive to his external environment while he was snared in his mind, focusing on the shards of memory that had emerged from the blank-nothing. The fact that the HYDRA soldier electrocuted the Asset is proof that he was unresponsive. The soldiers would of ordered him to report, to submit to their authority by disarming himself and going to the chair. He had not responded, must have remained standing in the room and ignoring all directives and orders, resulting in the punishment.

It occurs to the Asset that he has also grossly violated his standard operating procedure by killing the HYDRA personnel. He would receive severe punishment and memory wipe, before being put back into cryofreeze for this transgression. It would be too dangerous to leave him in any other state where he might lose control again.

Except the imperative to accept his punishment is remaining silent. Along with the numerous other imperatives that should be guiding him.

The imperatives had always been present, alongside the empty-nothing. Both were essential for the functionality of the Winter Soldier. The empty-nothing was his primary state; he was a weapon of HYDRA with the skills and knowledge necessary to eliminate his targets and remain invisible. He did not need any memories of the past, had no desire to stray from his duty. He would carry out his orders and feel nothing. Think nothing. And if he was ever in the situation of needing to make his own decisions, the imperatives would lead him towards the correct conclusions. For the good of HYDRA.

Blood is beginning to congeal around the edges of his boots; he absently watches as the blood dries and darkens. He considers the fact that he is still alone, even though he is aware that time has been passing. And that his imperatives seem to have vanished into the blank-nothing.

It was as if the blank-nothing had consumed the entirety of his primary state – the empty-nothing – along with his ability to think cohesively. What he was left with was a feeling of hollow dread, and the sense that there was now too much space in his head; too much potential space that he could not use. His thoughts had always been precise and uncomplicated, directed wholly towards fulfilling his mission parameters. His mind feels too big for his head, like abandoned functions had been flung open by the encounter with the target. All he has is this excess of space and the looming blank-nothing around the edges of his mind. No orders to follow and no imperatives to direct him.

If the Asset is no longer in his primary state and no longer has the imperatives, how is he supposed to make a decision? He is the Asset, the Winter Soldier. He is given orders. He does not create orders.

_James Buchanan Barnes._

The Asset does not wince as the throbbing in his skull increases.

The Asset does tilt his head as he considers the name once more. The memories of the target are still clear, not lost in the blank-nothing. But when they do surface they give him this stabbing headache and make his brain restless. Like these words should be encouraging him to do something.

_You know me._

The memories are painful to think about, and make the blank-nothing shiver around him; not retreating or getting closer, but flexing around his consciousness. They make his mind feel less like he is about to get lost inside his own skull. The Asset can almost sense his mind becoming more settled, focusing on the only thing that seems to still be within his reach.

_You're my friend._

_You know me._

_James Buchanan Barnes._

The Asset has not had time to think about why the target and his words are having such a strong effect on him. On the helicarrier his head had been pounding with a dull, persistent pain, had made him move slower and miss opportunities to strike at the target. The words and the pain had made anger surge to the surface, gave him a reason to heave through his pain and keep attacking. But the target had stopped, said he would not fight. Dropped his weapon. It had made the Asset even more angry, fueling his punches but making his head feel like it was splintering open.

And then the target had said those words, words that should be nonsensical and utterly unimportant. Except they had made the dizzying pain in his head soften and break away, made the empty-nothing twist and shake from its tethers. The target had fallen, and the Asset had fallen after him as the empty-nothing in his head had swept away and left him with that single sentence.

_I'm with you 'till the end of the line._

Those words had made foreign emotions blaze across his mind. Familiar ones like anger and fear; but also sadness, longing, guilt. The feelings had clashed in his head, mixed together and spread through his body, made adrenaline scream through his muscles and filled him with the unquestionable need to go after the target, to save him; protect him while he could not protect himself. Leaping after the target, clamping his arms around his unconscious body and kicking to the surface had made every part of the Asset feel _right_. He knew in that moment – in the most intimate depths of his being – that he was meant to do this.

But by the time he had dragged the target to the riverside the blank-nothing had already appeared, replacing the clamoring feelings and putting him into that non-functioning state. His body had followed the ingrained imperatives to return to base while his mind had sunk under the blank-nothing, making him unable to think or obey the orders given to him. 

The Asset could only assume that this was now his primary state. Blank-nothing and too much space in his head.

Except.

The blank-nothing was not the same as empty-nothing, in any way. It feels far more convoluted. But even though this new type of nothing seems more complex, it had brought with it this new space in his mind, instead of the narrow and limited view of his previous state. And the memories of the target made the new stretches of space in his mind feel less alien, made the echoing buzz in his head quieter, gives his distracted thoughts a target.

The Asset does not think he likes the blank-nothing. He definitely does not like the insistent pain that accompanies the memories. He does not know what to do with the expanded space in his head. But he knows that he does not like the empty-nothing more than all these new sensations. He does not want to go back to feeling trapped and enclosed in his mind like he has always been. There is so much space in his head – so much _potential_ for more.

Potential for what exactly? The Asset does not know, but he does conclude that his handlers would want to revert him back to his empty-nothing state. He would be of no use to them otherwise. The only way to preserve his new primary state would be to hide from his handlers. Disappear from the reach of HYDRA entirely.

The Asset shift uneasily. Those kinds of thoughts are uncommon. Blatantly disobedient. The kind of thinking that would earn him severe punishment. But the Asset knows that he can not stay if he wants to keep his new primary state. The logical course of action would be to embrace these thoughts if he is preparing to desert and make his handlers consider him erratic. A threat to HYDRA. Perhaps he should start calling his handlers his enemies?

The Asset has been idling for too long. He knows that he has made the decision already and is simply stalling from the unfamiliar ability to choose his own direction. No one has returned to the bank vault, but he can not waste more time wondering at the new scope of his mind. If he is going to hide he will need a safehouse – one that is not HYDRA – that he will have to find quickly. He needs supplies; weapons, rations, water, intel. The only weapon he managed to not lose from the fighting and swimming is his Glock 19, but he has no extra ammo.

He considers the bodies strewn across the room. He puts the Glock 17 he is still holding into his thigh holster and retrieves the pistol and knife from the scientist, cleans the blood off with the other scientist's jacket. He finds two more identical knifes from the soldier corpses and ammo for all the guns. The Colt could be useful but is difficult to conceal, and the Asset would prefer a rifle to cover any long range combat he might find himself in.

There are weapon lockers along one wall; he smashes the locks and pries the fronts off. He gathers all the rations and a few bottles of water. He finds a simple backpack that he puts it all in, along with the pistol from the scientist. One of the lockers has a rife – an M2010 Enhanced Sniper Rifle – a newer and more efficient model than his usual rifle. He dismantles it, gathers the necessary ammo and puts them in the backpack.

There is blood on the front of his uniform, and some spattered along his left arm. He will need to clean the blood from the metal plates, but there is no spare uniform or civilian clothes in the lockers to swap with. All of the uniforms on the dead bodies have blood soaking into them. He will have to find a disguise elsewhere.

There are almost no physical papers in the base, only maintenance reports from the chair and notes from technicians about his arm. He finds a single laptop that might contain data and several USBs scattered on desks that all go into the backpack. He decides to take the few reports detailing any new work done to his arm and leaves the rest. There is no point in trying to destroy the physical files when the information is likely stored digitally.

He goes to the chair and considers it. It looks the same since he departed in pursuit of the target. The head guard and face plates are in the standby position, as are the restraints. He can hear vague clicking from the machines connected to the chair and a low hum from the monitors as calculations scroll across the screens.

The Asset had never cared for the chair; it was necessary for his functionality but had been so unbearably painful to experience. Cryofreeze had also caused him pain, the kind of slow coldness that infiltrated through his body and lasted for decades and decades. Quiet, ruthless and never-ending. But the chair had been pure, agonizing torture that opened up all of his senses to pain. Knifes gutting him, molten lava replacing his blood, glass being forced down his throat, thousands of white hot needles assaulting his brain and digging, gouging, tearing in and _ripping_ out, over and over. Sometimes for hours, other times for days.

The Asset feels anger spark in him, and he does not bother quelling it. He knows now that he does not have to be empty-nothing to function. He also knows that he has spent years being put into the chair to keep the empty-nothing primary state operational, even if he does not remember. If he is escaping from HYDRA and they manage to catch him, this would be the first place he is put for reconditioning.

He clenches his hands around the headrest and face plates and rips them off, flings them towards opposite corners of the vault. The armrests and restraints follow. He pummels the body and supporting structure of the chair out of shape; he punches and punches until the top half cracks off and knocks into the machines standing behind. He moves to the side and grasps the under-frame of the chair, snarls and heaves until all the bolts in the floor have been wrenched out. He hauls the chair up above his head and smashes it into the ground; connected machines and monitors jerk across the floor and topple over.

He listens to the crashing screech of metal against metal, breaking glass and the sound of his bellowing fury that echoes around him. He grabs the frame again and throws it down, does it again, and again. Picks it up once more and yells as he hurls it as hard as he can at the far wall. Monitors and apparatus follow the chair as it crashes into the concrete and falls to the floor, leaving a massive dent in the wall. Cracks reach up the wall towards the ceiling, and shattered monitors and broken machines are strewn around the chair.

The Asset breathes heavily as he surveys the wreckage. Now that he is stationary he feels a shiver of uncertainty from the sight of twisted metal, utterly destroyed and beyond repair.

Looking at the chair's broken form feels far more final than making the decision to leave.

He feels anxious. Hesitant about what his decision has put into motion, and the consequences. What could happen to him if he gets recaptured. But he also feels his thoughts click and settle into place.

The target and the words hover in his mind.

_I'm with you 'till the end of the line._

Even if there are more memory suppressing machines in HYDRA's possession, the Asset has destroyed this one. He has made his decision.

There is no going back.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://lomii-i.tumblr.com/)


End file.
